This is just going to be a couple of chapters. Something to hold me over until January 6th. 25 days!

Let's see, where was I one year ago today? Early December…it was right around the time that Graham—

I can't. I can't think about that right now. Every time I do, I feel guilty. I feel like I should have done more to help him. Believe him. Save him. Some savior. Did I see some white picket fence future with the guy? No. But he was a good person and he deserved a lot better than what he ended up with.

I want to believe Regina is trying to be better for Henry, but I still don't. That darkness in her eyes is still there, lying beneath the surface. I see good in her, screaming to get out, but she's trapped within herself. And it's really not up to me to save her. Only she can do that.

At least I can take solace in the fact that, even though I was gone for weeks in – whatever that place is called – Fairytale Land, I guess, nothing has changed here. There's still paperwork to be done at the Sheriff's office. My badge is back on my belt where it belongs and David actually did a pretty decent job at keeping the place in one piece. I know I owe him a huge thank you, but I'm dreading that conversation, because he's going to want some tear soaked reunion talk. And I'm not really ready to have a Daddy-Daughter talk with a guy who is the same age as me.

I'm not the little girl he lost.

Maybe that's why I'm scared. Because I think David is going to realize that I'm just some broken woman with abandonment issues. I think I'm afraid he's going to resent me. Maybe that's irrational…it probably is, but what can I do? I don't know how to be someone's kid. I don't even know how to be an adult.

"You alright Emma?" David's voice cuts into my thoughts, making my head snap up from the file I'm not reading.

"Huh?" I mumble, making him grin a little.

"You, uh…you were chewing your lower lip. Your – um – Snow does that too. It must be a family thing," He replies, looking awkwardly at his feet, before grabbing an opened box off of his desk. "Donut?"

"You know, you're only furthering a stereotype," I joke, managing a small smile and accepting a chocolate frosted, "If I start to grow a gut and a mustache, you better stop me."

"Will do," David nods, setting the box aside and sitting at the Deputy desk with a glazed donut.

"So, uh…" I begin, unsure of what to say but needing to fill the silence, "Thanks…you know, for keeping everything together and…" I gesture around the office to make my point. I really do suck at this.

"Of course," David says, taking a bite of his donut while I stare at mine. It falls silent again.

Please don't try to have the talk. Please don't try to have the talk…

"Emma, we need to talk," His gentle voice says a moment later. Damn, so close.

"David, please don't—"

"No, Emma," He sighs, pleading with his big puppy dog blue eyes, "I have to. It's been a week since you guys got back and I've really been trying to give you your space, because I know this family stuff isn't your thing." He winces slightly, "Sorry about that."

"I don't blame you," I assure him, taking pity on the poor bastard. "I would have done the same thing were it Henry…hell, I did. And I handed him right off to Regina."

"You did what you thought was best for your child," David says comfortingly. I feel my face fall a little and see the panic in his eyes as he tentatively reaches for my hand. I don't pull away, but I do jump a little at the touch.

"I didn't really have a choice, you know?" I admit, feeling like I'm betraying myself by confessing one of my darkest secrets. I haven't even talked to Mary Margaret about this. I haven't even admitted this to myself. "I had three months left to serve. I had no money. No family. Nowhere to live. I got to hold him for two hours and then he was gone." I can't make myself look at David, because I know I'm embarrassing myself, but it feels good to get some of this off my chest. Someone has to know the truth. It might as well be David. "I told them to seal the records…I didn't want him to find me. I didn't want to know him, because I was so terrified that he would feel the same way I always had. But they assured me that he had a home. What could I say? I never had a home. I was three when the foster family sent me back after their real baby was born."

"What?" David asks in a hushed, horrified voice. "They sent you back?" I can only shrug in response. What can I say? I didn't make it up. "How do you take care of a baby for three years and just give it back?" He mutters acidly, cursing under his breath. My eyes fall to my hand, which is covered by his. I hadn't even realized he'd placed it there, but I turn my palm up and squeeze his.

"Screw 'em," I sigh, "I don't remember them anyway." It's the ones after that I remember all too well. But that is not a story for now. "She showed me the nursery, you know," I change the subject swiftly, letting go of David's hand and reaching for my donut. "I saw the cradle and the beautiful toys and the wardrobe…" I trail off, thinking of those ripped pages that I tossed into the fire from the end of Henry's book. Prince Charming fought off the Evil Queen's henchmen one handedly while cradling his newborn daughter in the other arm.

Me.

It still doesn't seem possible, but as I stare into this young man's eyes, I can certainly see Prince Charming, but I also see the young husband and father, willing to die for those he loves.

Me.

Snow White and Prince Charming were honorable in their decision to give up their baby. I was forced into giving up mine because some jerk set me up to take the fall for a crime I didn't commit. Not that I'm innocent…quite the opposite in fact. But I always trusted my instincts…until Neal. The only time I ever allowed myself to get close to someone, it blew up in my face.

"She told me," David says in a clipped voice, sounding dangerously close to something that might be tears. I'm not good with tears.

"I can't be your little girl, David," I sigh, biting my lip, "I know you want that and I'm never going to be that."

"You think because you're grown you don't matter to us as much as you would have had we raised you?" His voice is thick, but also full of shock. His blue eyes are dark. "I don't care about having a little girl, Emma. What I care about, and what Snow cares about, is you. Plain and simple. You are our daughter. You are what matters to us. It has nothing to do with raising a little girl. All we ever hoped for was the chance to know you…and that means the woman you are, not the child you were." In a way, I want to burst into tears and throw my arms around him and thank him, but I don't. It's not in me. I swallow the giant lump in my throat and I nod.

"Okay," I agree, blinking quickly to mask the betraying sheen of tears in the corners of my eyes, "But can I ask you a question?"

"Anything," David answers earnestly.

"Charming? Really? I mean, I know they said your name was James, but…"

"James was my brother," David laughs, looking surprised and relieved, "I never knew him, but when he died and I took his place, I also took his name. I'm afraid the truth is rather boring. My real true given name is…David." He shrugs sheepishly, "Truth be told, I'm relieved. It's a little less confusing for all of us. Especially when you have a wife with two names in both worlds. Snow White. Mary Margaret. Could Regina be less original?"

I burst out laughing, glad for the angst reprieve, shaking my head and almost missing the figure silhouetted in the doorway. I absently reach for my gun, snapping my head to the side and find myself scowling.

Gold.

"May I help you?" I inquire dryly, standing and folding my arms across my chest. He gives me half a smirk.

"I hope so," He grins, "I've come to redeem that favor."

David is on his feet in an instant, moving to stand next to me. I appreciate the gesture, but I know I'm not in any danger here. Now. A week ago...maybe. Considering he tried to kill me and Mama Snow.

"What favor?" He asks, looking inquiringly at me. I shrug, trying to pass it off as no biggie…except now that I'm a believer and Mr. Gold is definitely the creep who makes deals that people can't refuse. "Oh Emma…" He sighs, shaking his head, "You didn't."

"I had to," I explain in defeat, moving around the desk, "I did it for Ashley."

"Ashley?" David looks confused. Probably because he was still out cold at the time. Don't make me say it, Pops…

"Cinderella, I believe," Gold chimes in for me with a twinkle in his eyes. "And, to be fair Miss Swan, she sought me out, dearie. It wasn't the other way around." Before I can insert a biting comment, he's going on, "The favor I am in need of…" He continues, changing the subject to his purpose, "Miss Swan, your history as a bail bondsman—"

"Person," I correct curtly, noticing David smirk in surprise.

"Apologies," Gold nods, "Bail bondsperson. I need you to find someone for me. I would do it myself, but with the tiny border issue, this is impossible."

"Border issue?" I question, looking to David for confirmation. He nods.

"Anyone who crosses the border that was affected by the curse loses their true memories again. Tom Clark stepped over and lost all of his memories," He explains. At my look of confusion, he clarifies. "Sneezy."

"Oh, great," I mutter, rubbing my temples. "More curse breaking…okay, Gold. Who's the guy?"

"My son," He responds without hesitation. It's the first time he's said anything that wasn't cryptic to me. He really wants to find his kid. Gold never says anything without an underlying motivation. He's just putting it all out there. "Baelfire," he adds, making me give him an incredulous look.

"Baelfire?" I ask dryly, resisting the urge to sigh heavily. "Okay, let's see…do you have a nickname? Because I don't think Baelfire's out there going by Baelfire Smith, ya know?"

"I called him Bae," Gold offers, extending his arm out toward me to give me the folder he's holding. "I have this." I take it and open it, revealing a really really old piece of parchment paper with a drawing of a boy on it. Skeptically I glance up at Gold.

"A drawing? This is what I have to go on? The name Baelfire and a drawing of a kid," They say nothing as I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, before looking at the drawing again. "You know they can't do age progression on this, right? How old would he be?"

"He was fourteen when he fell through the portal," Gold tells me calmly, "But there's truly no telling. He fell through time and space. Can you find him or not?" Still staring at the drawing, I nod.

"If he's here, I'll find him. I always find what I'm looking for," I mutter, thinking of the one person I haven't found yet and scowling before I push the thought out of my head as always. "He reminds me of Henry," I muse, meeting Gold's eyes. "That's why you're so fond of the kid, aren't you? He reminds you of your son."

"Perhaps," Gold agrees.

"So, you're really going to do this?" David asks, looking between us worriedly. I hope he's not going to try to pull some parental bullcrap on me.

"Yep," I tell him, daring him to forbid it. "This is what I do, David. I find people for a living and hunt them down."

"Gods, you are his daughter aren't you?" Gold chuckles, giving David an approving look. "She takes after you."

"Enough pleasantries," I interrupt, "I'm gonna need a little more than a sketch and a name."

"I thought you might," Gold agrees, "I think your friend August may be able to help. Recently, he falsely led me to believe that he was Bae, but I think we both know he's not."

"August?" David asks, bemused.

"I think you know him better as Pinocchio," I groan, cringing for what seems like the thousandth time today.

"Pinocchio? Geppetto's kid?"

"Yep," I affirm, shaking my head. "Why am I not surprised? He actually pretended to be your kid? What's the damn name again?"

"Baelfire," David reminds me in his gentle way, all the while staring daggers at Gold.

"He knew about the power of my dagger and its ability to control me," Gold pauses, "Unfortunately for him, it has no power in this world. He wanted my help with his…condition."

"Son of a bitch," I breathe. "So, where is he?"

"I'm going to wager a guess that if anyone has seen him, his father has," Gold suggests. I squint, thinking of Marco, who used to be Geppetto, who lives near the woods. Appropriate. "I'll look into it," I promise, "But, I'm telling you Gold, this is like looking for a needle in a haystack. How long has Baelfire been missing?"

"Well," He seems to contemplate this for a moment, "before the curse, it was leaning toward three hundred years." He doesn't even have the decency to look humble as he says this, while I have to grip the edge of my desk to keep from knocking David over like a bowling pin.

"Perfect," I retort tiredly.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised when August is the first thing I see upon pulling up in Marco's driveway. He's sanding something that looks to be a rocking chair, but I am. I don't know why, but I half expected August to split as soon as the curse was broken. I can't deny the relief I feel at the sight of his human face, covered in stubble as always. It warms me inside, as I get out of the car in the lightly falling snow and nod to David.

"He was just a little boy," David shakes his head, "This isn't possible…"

"I was a newborn," I point out, meeting him around the car as we walk toward the open garage workshop. I know David wants to say more, but I don't give him a chance. "Hey, puppet!" He starts and whirls toward us, brightening instantly as his face melts into a beaming smile.

"Hey yourself, Princess!" He grins, moving toward me with his arms open and pulling me into a crushing hug.

"Glad to see you're all fixed up again," I pull back, sobering. "I need a word."

"Uh oh…" He nods politely at David and waves us toward the door inside the workshop. "Come on. Let's have a drink."

"Sounds great," I concur enthusiastically, following him inside.

"So, what can I do for you two?" August asks, pouring equal amounts of whiskey into three glasses. I'm more of a vodka gal, but whatever. Booze is booze.

"I'm looking for someone you apparently know or know of," I tell him bluntly, cutting right to the chase. He looks at me, blue eyes intrigued as he takes a sip.

"Oh yeah? Who's that?"

"Baelfire."

August spits out his drink. Violently. He's even a bad liar when he doesn't talk.

"As in, son of Rumpelstiltskin?" He coughs, making me thump him on the back a few times until he gets control over his shit.

"The very same," David mutters, taking a swig and wincing as it goes down. I just stare at the amber liquid.

"How do you know about him?" August asks carefully, watching me with suspicious eyes.

"Don't you play that game with me, Pinocchio!" I warn, "I know about your little charade. What the hell were you thinking trying to pull one over on Mr. I-Steal-Babies-For-A-Living?"

"I wasn't thinking, Emma," August tells me honestly, "I was panicking. You remember…I was terrified! I would have done anything."

"Pretending to be a psychopath's son?" I give him a pointed look, "Not smart, August."

"Yeah, yeah…" He mutters, taking a sip.

"So, do you know where this guy is or what?" I ask, finally taking a sip of the harsh, warming liquid. I savor the feeling as it makes its way down, spreading warmth through my body. His eyes darken for a moment, and I can see that he knows. Or he did once. But either way, he's closer than I am. He's at least seen Baelfire (seriously what the hell kind of name is that?).

"Last I heard, he'd moved to New York and was going under the name Jack Barrie. I don't have an address," He admits, though the tick in his jaw tells me otherwise. He knows I can see past his Bullshit judging by the guilt in his bright blue eyes.

"August, I owe you a lot, okay?" I start, playing no games with him, "You got me off the side of the road to safety. I'd probably be dead if not for you, so please just cut the crap alright? Where is Jack Barrie?"

"What do you mean?" David inserts authoritatively, his eyes narrowing.

"Not now," I cut him off, shaking my head and turning my burning gaze back to August. "So?"

"I don't know, Emma. I swear," He puts his hands up defensively; "You can ask his foster mom. That's the only number I have for him. Her name is Maggie Crowe."

"Okay, question," I stop him again, "Are you sure this is him? I mean, you pretended to be…what's to say this guy isn't a liar too?"

"He's not. I just know, okay? Let's just leave it at that," His voice is short, sullen.

"And he's in New York," I reaffirm, watching him nod and finish off his drink. Pulling out a notepad I quickly scribble NYC: Jack Barrie. "So, what's her number?" I ask, pulling out my cell. August's eyes widen in surprise.

"What, now?"

"Uh, yeah…" I huff impatiently, rolling my eyes. "I kind of want to get this over with so I can, ya know, go on living my life." I can't help but snicker at the surly look on his scruffy face as he pulls out his wallet and withdraws a business card with a number scratched on the back of it.

CLEANERS & HATTERS.

I gingerly take the old business card and turn it over, quickly dialing the phone number and praying for the best. A young man answers.

"Hello?"

"Hi, I'm calling for Mrs. Margaret Crowe," I say in my most Sheriff-like voice.

"Grams!" The guy calls, "Telephone!" I ignore the questioning looks of both August and David and stare instead at a scratch in Marco's kitchen table while August pours himself another drink. A moment later, a woman comes on the line.

"Hello, Maggie speaking," A shockingly British woman answers, sounding like the second coming of Julie Andrews.

"Mrs. Crowe," I begin, biting my lower lip, "My name is Emma Swan. I'm the Sheriff of Storybrooke, Maine. I'm looking for a man and was given your name as a possible contact for him."

"You're calling about Peter, aren't you?"

"Peter?" I ask, frowning up at August, who shrugs. "No, I'm looking for Jack Barrie."

"Is that what he's going by now?" She sighs, sounding worried. "Is he in trouble again?"

Again?

"No," I assure her, "I'm…uh…an old friend."

"I see," She falls silent for a few achingly long moments. "Look, Ms. Swan. Peter's not a bad boy, he's just misunderstood. He's had a rough time, but he's really turned it around."

"I understand, Mrs. Crowe," I swallow, "I too was raised in foster care. I spent some time in jail. I'm not out to get him. I just need to speak to him. It's kind of important."

"I believe you, Ms. Swan. Don't ask me how, but I have a genuine gift at judging peoples' intentions. And I do believe you mean well. So, I'm going to give you the telephone number he gave me to call him at." Reluctantly, she tells me and I scrawl it on the same business card her number is scratched on. "Look," She goes on, "If you find him, please tell him to call me and tell him that I miss him very much. He's very special to me."

"I…I will," I swear, "Thank you for your help, Mrs. Crowe." We hang up and I let out a long exhale, staring at the phone number in silence.

"Well?" David presses, eager for information. I shrug.

"She called him Peter," I murmur, looking once more at August. "Are you positive it's—"

"It's Baelfire," August nods. "He showed up in London, and Margaret took him in. He was getting into some trouble over there, stealing, so Maggie and her husband decided to move here to the States for a fresh start for him."

"Jesus," I moan, finishing my drink in one burning swig. "I guess I'd better call him."

"Emma, it can wait," David tells me, placing his hand on my arm.

"No, David," I sigh, "The quicker I get out of this deal with Gold, the better. I just want to move on with my life and spend time with Henry without worrying."

"Did you figure out how to get rid of Mommie Dearest?" August quips, raising an eyebrow. He's obviously referring to Regina.

"Shut up, puppet," I snap, smacking him in the arm. The truth is, I don't know if I want Regina out of Henry's life. Yes, she is a sociopathic control freak with extremely low self-esteem, but she raised Henry from birth. He loves her in his own tentative way. She terrifies him, yes, but the fact is that she is still his Mom. And even though that title has been extended to me too as of late, it kills me, because I wanted him more than I wanted anything. So, like it or not, Regina and I are both in Henry's life…and I sure as shit am not going to start a weird pseudo-lesbian marriage with her to keep him. Before I have time to think better of it, I'm dialing Jack Barrie…or Peter…or Baelfire's number. Whatever.

"Barrie," The deep, husky voice comes over the line. So, definitely not a fourteen year old kid. I don't know if that's good or bad.

"Mr. Barrie…my name is—" August is shaking his head vigorously at me with huge eyes, "—Mary Margaret Blanchard," I finish lamely, gesturing helplessly at a horrified David.

"What can I do for you, Miss Blanchard?" Barrie asks, giving me the sickening sensation of Déjà vu.

"I was actually hoping you could help me find a friend of mine," I lie, wanting to bash my head against the table. "I'm looking for August Booth and I will be in the city tomorrow. I could stop by your place if you would be open to—"

"Look, sweetheart," He cuts in, "I haven't seen August in over a year."

"Um," I draw a blank. Maybe time to go for the shock value. "Okay, here's the deal buddy. I know who you are. I know where you're from and I need to find you."

"Listen lady," His voice becomes more biting, "I don't know what game you're playing, but if you think you have something to hold over me, I—"

"Your father's looking for you," I blurt, feeling my face turn a violent shade of red. I can feel the surprise radiating from within the phone.

"Who is this?" His hushed voice finally murmurs. I sigh.

"My name is Emma Swan," I explain, "I'm the Sheriff of a town called Storybrooke in Maine." There is a silence, and I can hear him take a long breath.

"Emma…?" He whispers, sounding oddly relieved and slightly sick all at once.

"Emma, no!" August hisses, looking terrified as he stands and rips the phone out of my hand. Before I can react, he's ended the call.

"What the hell, August?!" I cry, bounding out of my seat and lunging for my phone. "I was getting somewhere."

"This isn't like when you were on your own tracking people, Emma!" August insists, "You have a family to think about. You don't give out your real name!"

"He's right, Emma," David nods, holding me back so I can't murder August Wayne Booth. "Come on," He urges, "That's enough for today. You're tired. Let's go home."

"Relax!" I mutter, pulling away from him in irritation, "People can't find Storybrooke. It's one of the perks of Regina's weird Harry Potter unplottable town." I snatch the phone out of his hand and hit redial, pointing to my gun as I do to indicate that I will shoot if August pulls anything.

"Hello?" The voice answers again, more hesitant this time and full of what can only be hope. Maybe he's open to a reunion with Dear Old Dad after all.

"Hi. Emma Swan again. Sorry about that! Lost signal. Small town living. What can ya do?" I crack, hoping he's not going to hang up on me. "So, can you help me or not Mr. Barrie?"

"Depends," Barrie's wounded voice answers, "How do I know this isn't a trick? My father and I have been separated for a very, very long time, Miss Swan. For all I know, he's dead."

"You can decide for yourself whether he's for real or not, Mr. Barrie," I return shortly, "And here's the thing…you can come with me willingly or…"

"Or?"

"I force you," I finish casually, rolling my eyes at both August and David's dual expressions of horror.

"Ya know, some people don't want to be found, Emma," Barrie confesses quietly.

"Yeah well, some people don't care," I point out, "And I will find you, Baelfire."

"I don't doubt it," The man chuckles. "Okay Emma, I'll play. But, only if you come and get me. And make me one promise," He continues, making me bristle with frustration.

"And what would that be?"

"You have to promise me that you will keep an open mind and let me say what I have to say when you get here. Deal?" Something in the way he says that sends a chill up my spine, but I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. It's a few hour drive. I can be back by tomorrow night if I leave in an hour.

"Yeah. Deal," I agree, ignoring David's look of concern. "But if you give me any trouble, I will take you down, Mr. Barrie. Am I clear?"

"Clear," He agrees, quickly telling me where he lives so I can find him. We hang up and David is arguing with me before I can even press 'END'.

"You're not going to New York by yourself," He asserts, folding his arms as I calmly take my glass to the sink and rinse it out.

"David," I begin as patiently as I can manage, "I have to. Nobody can leave except for me. I have to do it alone. It's not worth losing your memory over."

"I'd choose losing memory over losing my daughter any day of the week, Emma," He murmurs gravely. Sighing, I set the glass down and walk silently over to him, carefully wrapping my arms around his middle and placing my ear against his chest. I can tell he's taken aback by the way his arms come up and hesitantly settle around me.

"You're a really great guy, David," I tell him, unable to hold back a small smile even though my eyes are suddenly burning like a bitch, "And I love you for worrying about me. But I'm a big girl. This is nothing compared to the dirtbags I've chased down."

"I'd really feel better if somebody went with—"

"I'll go," August sighs, giving me a look of defeat. "I'll go with her." I turn to him in surprise.

"You will?"

"Yeah, this is my mess too," He mutters, "I can't make you clean it up on your own."

"Well, let's get it over with then. If we leave in an hour, we can be there by midnight," I insist, pulling away from David and putting my hands in my coat pockets.

"Damn," August curses, reaching for his coat. At my questioning look, he chuckles mirthlessly, "I have to cancel my date this Saturday. I'll have to swing by the diner before we go." I roll my eyes, grabbing David's arm and heading out to the car.

"Be at Mary Margaret's in twenty minutes," I instruct, "Pack light."

David and I are halfway home when he laughs suddenly, making me jump out of my blank thoughts and stare at him in mild panic.

"What?" I ask moodily, watching his eyes twinkle with mischief as we come to a red light.

"I'll let you tell Snow what's going on," He informs me smugly, smirking. I grip the steering wheel, turning my eyes back to the road and try not to sag in my seat.

Shit.